Careless Whisper
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: Sometimes when he’s alone like this, he thinks he can hear her whispering in his ear, a gentle caress that soothes his heart. BB, oneshot


_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones!_

_**Summary: Sometimes when he's alone like this, he thinks he can hear her whispering in his ear, a gentle caress that soothes his heart. BB, oneshot**_

_My first Bones fanfiction in a while! I'm glad to be writing this fandom again. I recently got Bones Season 4 for a Christmas present and I'm all wrapped up in the wonderfulness of Booth and Brennan and the Squints…ah. So here's this fic! I hope y'all like it!_

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**Careless Whisper**

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He stands by her grave, like a giant stone pillar, unable to move, unable to feel, unable to think.

It's not the first time he has come here. He's been here every day since her death.

Seeley Booth just can't let go.

Can't let _her _go.

That's why he stands here, looking at her headstone with unblinking eyes, trying not to feel when that is all he can do at the moment.

How can he not?

His strong fists are clenched tightly, the tendons plainly visible beneath tanned skin. Blunt nails dig deep into the flesh of his palm. He doesn't even give a wince to affirm his discomfort at that, but his face is twisted into a seemingly permanent mask of grief.

Chocolate brown eyes, filled with sadness, stare at the grave marker. Seeing, yet unseeing at the same time.

It has been at least two months. The pain of loss is still deep, a ragged wound that hasn't been healed, just left open to fester and get even worse.

His eyes scan the words, tracing each curve of the letter with a knowing manner. He's seen this gravestone so many times before, he sometimes sees it in his sleep.

_Temperance Brennan._

There is the usual terms of endearment written beneath her name, elegantly scrawled in the granite stone. The stone itself is huge, elaborate, with a gothic style to the artwork. There are fresh flowers spread about it, and he looks at the gestures of love sent by fans and friends and family alike. Along with himself.

He brings her favorite flowers - the kind she that brought a smile to her face during her life - and places them by her grave, every year marking the anniversary of her death, as well as on her birthday. He can't seem to just bring himself to visit just _once _every year. Even twice seems like it would not be enough to come see her. So he visits sometimes in between the dates, when he has a particular problem, or when he just feels like being in her presence.

Sometimes the guilt overwhelms him. He was supposed to protect her. Supposed to be her knight in shining armor. Not allowing any dragons to get past him and devour the princess.

Sure, she could take care of herself - _had _taken care of herself. He knew that, but he still had the undeniable urge to protect her.

The urge wasn't enough.

The most mundane, typical thing got her. They had survived bombs, the Grave Digger, and many other things, but the one little thing that had taken her life was the very thing that he had spent a good portion of his life doing.

A bullet. A simple, little thing like a bullet. They'd survived bullets before, but this time it got her. He had protected her for so long, but then, eventually, the wretched thing got past him and to the woman he cared about more than his own life.

During a book signing, she had her guard down, and naturally, he did too. One of her crazed fans jumped out of nowhere, and pulled out a small handgun. It had all happened so fast, _too _fast, and he hadn't had time to react. The projectile wedged itself in her chest. She was gone in a matter of minutes.

She had died in his arms, her hand gently pressed against his cheek.

So he stands here, a heart wrenchingly sad look in his eyes, on the day of her death, and just _stares_.

A small smile twitches his lips as the wind picks up around him.

That smile appears because he knows what she would say at this moment. Her voice, though distorted and faded in his imagination, rings through his head at the possible words.

"_It's not rational. I'm dead… Move on, Booth."_

But he can't.

Sometimes when he's alone like this, beside her grave and fraught with the grief, he thinks he can hear her whispering in his ear, a gentle caress that soothes his heart. The clarity of it is different than the washed out voice in his memories, it is as if she is literally right next to him, her melodic voice wrapping around him like a blanket.

"_Booth…"_

There she is…calling out to him, like some kind of sick siren.

Though he knows it will hurt him to hear her voice, he welcomes it. Any piece of her he can hold on to is welcome to him, no matter how painful.

He runs a hand over his hair, ruffling the short strands, and clenches his eyes shut so tightly that he sees white beneath the lids.

Then he sees blue.

The blue of her eyes, clear and cerulean and intelligent, always curious, always seeking the truth, despite the cost. He sees the rich color of her hair, the white of her skin, and the curve of her neck. The beauty of her smile. The rare sound of her laugh. The gentleness of her touch.

He opens his own eyes and is face to face with her gravestone.

The very image of it is like a slap in the face.

He grunts as he slips to his knees, to kneel in front of the grave marker. He thinks his bad back is coming back, and then is bombarded with the images of her attempting to fix his back.

All his thoughts seem to come back to her.

His gentle brown eyes stare at the granite stone, something that he had seen far too much of in his lifetime, and he feels his chest constrict at the sight of it, and knowing who is just beneath him.

A crooked smile plays upon his lips, and he reaches out, trailing his hand along the petals of the flowers he had just laid there before moving upward to trace the letters of her name, etched permanently in the stone.

_Temperance Brennan_

_Beloved daughter and friend_

He thinks there should be more describing her on the stone. Like "genius" or "amazing" or any other superlative he could think of. But the amount of flowers and items left by fans say more than any words carved on a stone could.

He grins at the stone, as if it could smile back, and then voices the words that he says every time before he leaves her.

"I love you, Bones."

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_**End. **_

_Well, there it is! For such a short fic, it was exhausting to write. Haha. Well, I enjoyed writing it, though. I missed writing for Bones! I don't know why I haven't written for it in a while. Guess other fandoms have taken up my mind. But yeah, I hope y'all like this one! I would love to hear your thoughts and get some feedback! That's always appreciated._

_Thanks for reading!_


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